


The Freedom of the Fall

by DracoStoleMyKnickers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auror Harry Potter, Aurors, F/M, Hansy - Freeform, Murder, Murder Mystery, Pansy is a queen don't at me, Past Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Stockholm Syndrome, Strong Female Characters, Strong independent woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-07-19 14:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoStoleMyKnickers/pseuds/DracoStoleMyKnickers
Summary: Next on Harry Potter’s Auror Career - what he never expected to see at a murder scene.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first published fic - please be gentle. It has taken a long time (years) to pluck up the courage to post.  
> I don’t have a beta so all mistakes are my own.  
> Bizarrely, this was inspired by The One by Jorja Smith but to be honest I have no clue how as the story just doesn’t relate??? Will try and update every Thursday (or sooner) depending on how much I write that week.

Pansy wished she missed her ex, because she didn’t.

All the years of pinning after him were just wasted youth. Every Saturday she would wake up and thank Merlin that she wouldn’t have to wake up next to Draco.

Their relationship, a loose term, had been awful. They bickered non stop about petty things. It often drove Pansy to tears and Draco to storm out. It was a relief when they managed to break the (premature) marital contract.

As soon as they saw the document go up in flames, it gave them the space and distance to be friends again instead of force a romantic and sexual relationship which just was not there.

However, it did mean Pansy now had some very free weekends. She didn’t miss Draco, but it was just nice to have someone to do things with, like go visit Curlingham Gardens or go and look at the new Dragon park in Wales. Things which she couldn’t really do on her own, not without gossip and pointed looks. Not having a mother to go with ruled out one option, and now that she didn’t have Narcissa around that ruled out that one too. With her father still in Azkaban, she obviously couldn’t spend the entire weekend visiting him. Her friends had mostly abandon her - post war, post Draco or post their own marriage and happy little bubbles.

It was fair, Pansy thought, to have a little self-pity for her loneliness.

So Pansy had started to exploit her freedom and make up time for all the years lost to Draco and to the War. She would go out to smart muggle hotels and drink at the bars. It was easy to pick someone up for the night, take them back to their place and be done. Satisfy her urges. Be gone by the morning without a trace, leaving them wondering if it was all a dream. A woman has needs and Pansy saw no objection in satisfying them.

Heaven forbid she try it in the wizarding world. It would be scandalous. Her father would disown her and she would never be allowed to step foot in the remaining establishments which allowed her disgraced arse in at the moment. The old hags still ruling wizarding society would make her life hell, worst than it already is, and Pansy frankly did not want any more ostracisation. She had worked her so hard to be where she was today, and she would be damned if she took another fall from grace.

And so Pansy had realised, that she did not like being alone.

* * *

“What do we have here Roberts?”

“I’m not sure, sir.” Roberts replied.

Harry stepped into the clean bright apartment. Modern white sharp furniture, which almost felt sterile. Large ceiling to floor windows looked out over the Thames. In the centre of the room, next to a sofa and a coffee table, laid a man. Dead. His arms were spread out as if he belly flopped on the floor. His face was against the floor. A small pool of blood was slowly seeping out, staining the white vanished wood.

Harry sighed, another murder scene. He had thought that his days being surrounded by bodies were over after Voldemort had been defeated but clearly not. He wasn’t sure if he had signed up to be an auror if he had known.

Roberts launched into a brief report. “We were called in around half an hour ago. An elderly witch across the hallway heard some banging last night, and came around an hour ago to complain to the owner. The door was unlocked, and she opened it, to discover this.”

Harry noticed the pool of blood coming out of, what could only be his face, was growing. He crouched down

“Did you check her wand?”

“After she calm down, yes, clean. No sign of any wand work in the night”

“Hmm.” Harry paused, hovering close over the body. He bent down to get a closer look at her face. “Do we know who he was?”

Roberts paused. “The lady across the hall called him ‘that man’”

“‘That man?’” Harry asked.

“Well, I don’t think she liked him. But eventually she did say he was Lucien De Fay.”

“De Fay?”

“No, not related, probably, to Le Fay but still, French.”

“Has the French ministry been informed?”

“Yes but-“

“Did you hear that?” Harry interjected. He could hear a faint buzzing.

“What sir-“ Roberts stopped as Harry lifted up a hand to indicate to stop. Roberts had heard it to.

“Did you check to see if the flat was empty?” Harry hissed.

Roberts flushed a pink. Harry took that as a no.

* * *

The one time that Pansy broke her no-sleep over rule was the time she regretted it the most.

The thump, thump, thump of head made her groan. How did this happen? She had not meant to get that drunk last night. In fact, she was sure she only had 1 or 2 drinks. No, that would be ridiculous. She had been watching her drink all night - except she did go to the bathroom, and maybe he slipped it in there?

Pansy did not want to get up and confront the man she had gone home with last night on if he had spiked her drink. She would have to do it eventually.

Pansy winced as she opened her eyes. She pat her hair out of her mouth. She groaned as she disentangled herself from the knot of grey - incredibly bachelor, it hurt - sheets. She sat up and groaned. The light was filtering through the wooden blinds. At least she had found her pink knickers hung up on one of the slacks. She reached up and grabbed them before picking up a discarded shirt on the floor and put them on.

Vaguely she buttoned up the shirt as she began to muse of how she wanted, no, _needed_ her morning coffee. Pansy slowly rose off the bed. The blood in her head rushed around, definitely hungover. She thank Merlin that she already had a potion waiting for her at home. She padded around the bedroom picking up her clothes. She placed them in a pile at the end of the bed.

She checked her jacket for her wand. It was still in the pocket. It always helped to have it on her. Pansy slipped it up her sleeve. You could never be too cautious. The war had left all kinds of scars, and Pansy always felt constantly on edge. You would, if you were constantly around the Carrows and their cruel behaviour.

She shuffled sleepily to the door, before pushing it open into the light.

Pansy shrieked.

There he was. On the floor, in a pool of blood with two men where standing over his body. They looked up startled and was it-

“Expelliarmus!” Potter shouted as his reflexes kicked in. She froze. Her wand ripped out of her sleeve straight into the hand of Potter. She barely recognised him if not for his scruffy black hair and lightning scar peaking out. “Parkinson? What are you doing here?”

“Potter.” Pansy spluttered. Still shocked, it was beginning to dawn on her that there was a dead body in front of her and she was half naked. Oh Merlin, this looked awful and especially considering the history between them… Pansy was fucked. Guess I’ll be joining Daddy in Azkaban, she thought sarcastically.

“I was staying over." She heard herself saying.

“Staying over?” The other Auror asked, his eyebrows raised. He was a tall man, average size, with a butterbear belly beginning to hang. The auror had eyes that lingered for too long on her legs.

Pansy said nothing.

If Narcissa had taught her anything, sometimes silence is the best retort.

“Parkinson? Why are you here?” Potter asked, edging towards her.

“I…I…” She was lost for words. But what defence did she have? The aurors looked at each other briefly before Potter stepped over the body and approached her.

“Parkinson you are under arrest” Harry signed before magically hand cuffing her and hauling her close to his body. “Roberts. Clear up here and send the body to the morgue. I want a full sweep of residual magic and any wards.”

She could feel his breath on her neck as he portkeyed them to the ministry.

All before her morning coffee. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of suicide

Pansy sat down on the metal chair and crossed her legs. She felt self-conscious. Of course, Potter wasn’t a real gentleman to have realised that she may want to be covered up.

She remembered the last time she was in this room. It was after the final battle. No one had cared she had fought death eaters, and generally was more concerned about the younger Slytherins. Pansy had done the only feasible thing after the war had ended and handed herself over to the Aurors. She had sat in an interrogation room, much like this for hours before they found someone to interview her. She had promised herself she would never be in that position again. And yet, here she was.

The door opened and Potter entered. He looked weary. His shoulders drooping as the auror robes hung off them. A small spark of smugness glowed in Pansy belly. Glad that the war had aged others worst than her.

“Parkinson.”

“Potter.”

He took out a quick quill and a notepad from under his robes and set them down on the table. He waved his wand and the quill and the notepad floated up, hovering about the table, poised to start.

“Ready to begin?” Pansy nodded, “For the record please speak your full name.”

“Pansy Lily Parkinson.”

Pansy almost missed the brief shift in Potter’s face. Funny.

“Occupation?”

“Tailor.” Potters eyebrows shot up. Obviously he had thought that Pansy didn’t work. She had worked hard to keep it very quiet. Few people needed to know about her business. She had tried to keep it secret who was the owner and designer so not to put off any potential buyers of her clothes.

“Tailor?” Potter queried.

“I design wizarding robes and formal dresses” She clarified, shifting in the chair.

And so it continued. Potter had pushed to establish every little thing about her. It seemed almost pointless and unrelated to this morning, and so Pansy had slipped back into the familiar facade she had practised and honed over the years under the supervision of her late mother, and later Narcissa Malfoy: being as brief as possible, and in effect giving away as little as possible.

Potter paused for a minute. He checked his watch.

“How long have you know Lucien De Fay?” Potter asked, leaning back in his chair. It was De Fay? Ah, a French wizarding name then. She knew he couldn’t have been a muggle. There was something familiar when she stepped foot in that apartment, a feeling of magical presence.

“What time is it?”

“Huh?” He answered, confused. Pansy crossed her arms.

“What time is it?” She repeated.

Potter frowned, before looking down at his, presumably muggle, watch.

“9 am exactly.”

“Oh, well, then I guess 13 hours perhaps? Give or take half an hour or so.”

Potter frowned. Pansy was going to try and get out of this is

“What were you doing there.”

“Like I’ve said Potter” She spat, “I was staying the night”

“Staying the night?”

“Do I really need to expand on that?” She snapped. Although sleeping around was frowned upon in the wizarding world, it would social suicide if they knew it was muggles. Her last remaining friends would abandon her and Pansy had realised how frightening that would be.

Potter paused.

“No, I don’t think so.” He flicked through the notes on the quick quill he had. “Do you often stay over with different wizards” he probed. Potter’s eyes met hers, as she stared back in shock at his blatant question.

“No” she muttered. “I would like to owl my lawyer.”

Potter began to speak when a knock on the door of the interrogation room interrupted him.

“Sir?” It was that auror again. What did Potter call him? Was it Roberts?

“I will be back Parkinson.” He announced before getting up and speaking to Roberts at the door. Pansy slumped back in her chair and began to look at her nails. Her pedicure had lasted. It was bad enough they didn’t let her grab her dress, or transfigure her some trousers. She was feeling rather exposed in a dead man’s shirt. 

Pansy tried to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Trap…followed from the hotel…enchantment…delayed…massive energy blast…that’s what notified…the office…doorframe…kill…” Potter nodded along. He would interject every now and a again with an ‘uhuh’ or an ‘hmm’ till Roberts had finished. Slowly Potter’s face began to change. Was it sorrow? Surprise? Perhaps Potter wasn’t as an open book that Draco always used to whine about.

Either way Pansy wanted to be let go. She should have asked to call her lawyer earlier. Theo would have come immediately, but she didn’t. Why didn’t she?

“Thanks Roberts. Please give us a moment.” Roberts nodded before shutting the door. The steel reverberated as Potter turned and moved back to sit down in the chair.

Pansy waited.

“Pansy- can I call you Pansy?” It sounded strange hearing her name out of his mouth. Usually when people she didn’t know said her name it was spiteful or mocking. He sounded, well Pansy didn’t know what he sounded like, neutral. Potter continued.“Lucien was murdered.” She thought that must have been pretty clear. “He was killed by a trap, a trap I think was meant for you. Some one broke in the night, we think, whilst you were there. The wards were damaged which may have woken De Fay. What killed him though is the most interesting.

“The doorframe to the bedroom was cursed. The first person to walk through the door would die. Whatever woke De Fay, caused him to walk through the doorframe, killing him. It released a massive energy blast. That caused spike in magical energy which is what alerted us. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you.”

“I didn’t do it.” Pansy blurted.

“No I don’t think you did.” Potter mused, stroking his chin. Pansy could see the gentle shadow forming.

“So I’m clear?”

“You are clear to go” Pansy stood up, careful to make sure the shirt covered everything. Thank Merlin she was getting out of here. Someone had tried to kill her and all she wanted was her pyjamas, coffee and a day in bed.

“Pansy-“

“Parkinson to you.” Pansy snapped, “Enough with the first name basis”. She smoothed down the shirt, and marched to the door. “Well Potter, aren’t you going to let me go?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure I can.” Potter replied softly. He gestured for her to sit back down again.

“But I’m free…” Pansy exclaimed. She stared at him incredulous as they squared each other off.

“I do not think this is an isolated case.” To Pansy knowledge there had been relatively few murders in the last couple of years, the Daily prophet would have picked up on it. Potter continued, “You remember Adrian Pucey?” Pansy nodded. Of course she did, she had dated him for a stretch in 5th year and had remained good friends. He had turned up death last month, what had been widely assumed to be a suicide. Reluctantly she obeyed and returned to her seat. “His apparent suicide, was not a suicide. In fact, the none of the recent suicides in Britain have been suicides.” Potter continued.

Pansy began to mentally list all the people she could think of. Quite a few had committed suicide after the war, it was better than social suicide to them she had assumed. It dawned on her they were all ex-death eaters or related.

“Even Crabb?”

“Even Crabb in Azkaban.” Potter confirmed.

“But I thought after Goyle…” Pansy trailed off.

“No. It wasn’t. I thought so too, but it didn’t add up.” Why was he so concerned for them? He didn’t know them. Potter cleared his throat, “I suggest it would be best for you to go into hiding.” Pansy snorted, it wasn’t like she spent most of her time in hiding at the moment. “By that, I mean, no visitation for friends, clients, anyone. Even owls could compromise your position. I think you should be placed in a safe-house“ He elaborated.

“A safe-house?!” She hissed. God knows who she would end up with. Probably the least likely person to take her in - not Granger surely? And her business! How was she meant to run it when she couldn’t visit suppliers, and the workshop… She wasn’t going to put her life on hold to live in terror again.

“Look here Potter-“ She jabbed at his chest. “I will not put my life on hold to live on edge again, just because I had a one night stand which ended up with some one dead. I need to run my business and I need my freedom and no one. No _one_ -” she emphasised, “is going to stop me.”

Potter had sat there listening, looking at her with those green, deep eyes which looked so alive, waiting for her to finish.

“I have a hunch,” He cautioned, “that whoever killed Lucien De Fay, is after you and won’t stop till you are dead.”

Pansy gulped. He was serious.

For the first time after the war, Pansy felt unsafe.


	3. Chapter 3

“This is it.” Harry pushed opened the door into Grimauld Place. Pansy eyes widened. She had heard about the Black ancestral home, but had never stepped in it.

She cautiously stepped over the threshold.

When Potter had suggested a safe house, this was not what she had imagined. She had heard of the intricate Dark magic intwined in the property.Bellatrix gloating, but unable to reveal where it was. She swallowed the lump in her throat. It did not bode well to dwell on the war. Pansy hoped someone had dismantled the dark magic, because she did not think she could live in a house with the same awful aura as the Dark Lord.

They had gone straight from the ministry to her little flat. Potter had escorted her up from Knockturn alley into the building to collect her stuff. She had mentally saved the look on his face of confusion as he stepped into the mess of her 3-room flat. Most of the Parkinson fortune had been gone by the war reparations, and hence all Pansy could have afford was this small flat to launch her business from. The manor, well, that was a different story. 

Pansy had left Potter in the kitchen-atelier as she packed the essentials in her bedroom and bathroom. She guessed it would be a while, especially with Potter in charge, before she would return. Potter had watched in amazement as objects floated over and shrank into the bag. Technically it was illegal, but Pansy had paid a pretty penny for it.

The best thing, in Pansy’s opinion, of her flat, were the large bay windows overlooking the street. It let in sufficient light to be able to do delicate stitching. Most of the room was dedicated to her business, of course. Rolls of fabric dripping in beads and patterned by embroidery leaned against all four walls. A large table took up most of one side of the room with an industrial sewing machine on top. Three dress forms were abstractedly placed, in the other half, around a small sofa and table. She couldn’t leave her work behind, so she would have to take it with her. Pansy paused. How on earth was she meant to run a business in a safe house?

And after she had packed, he had brought her here.

The House of Black.

“You alright Parkinson?” Potter called back, as he dropped the keys in the dish in the hall way and levitated her belongings upstairs.

“This is…”

“Grimauld Place, yes.” Harry replie

“The Black family seat?”

Harry sighed as if he had dealt with this before.

“Yes. It is. I inherited it from Sirius Black.”

“Oh” she replied as she stepped down the hallway.

“I’ll give you a quick tour. Kitchen is down there. To the right is a sitting room, the main one, and that door leads to the basement. It’s probably best you do not go there,” Harry could see Pansy’s forehead forming a furrow. “Oh, its just whole load of the horrible, crazy, shouting portraits. They are quite loud. For your sanity, I wouldn’t go down there. It took a lot of complex wand work to silence them as it is, and Hermione isn’t sure if it is permanent so.” He shrugged.

Oh he definitely didn’t realise what he had done to make them so upset.

He led her upstairs. Pansy traced her hands over the banisters. She could feel the residual ancient magic. It lingered, not evil but there, humming. She didn’t think Potter knew the significance of the place. The important decisions that were made behind it’s walls that shaped the Wizarding world today. The gossip that upturned ministers after ministers and revolutionised the ministry again and again.

“That’s one of the bathrooms. Straight ahead is your bedroom, and mine,” He pointed up some more narrow windy stairs. “is over there.”

She stopped. “You live here?”

“Yes?” Potter answered.

“But what about Weaselbee?” She blurted. Potter sighed as if he had been asked this question too many times. Damn Pansy, where was your social finesse now?

“Ginny?” He sounded tired, “She left me, a year ago now?” He frowned, lost in through. Pansy had definitely just identified a sore spot to exploit. “Yeah, a year ago” He rued.

Now that he had mentioned it, it did ring a bell in her mind. That might have been during the aftermath of Draco leaving her, when she refused to leave the Parkinson manor and gardened furiously. Ripping out weeds and hurling gnomes really did help heal a broken heart. But Potter and Weaselbee breaking up? Something serious must of gone down for Weasley to make that stupid of a decision.

“But I thought you were going to get married.” Pansy probed stupidly.

“I don’t want to talk about it Parkinson,” Harry gritted.

He turned and began to walk down the stairs.

“I don’t know how long you will be staying for but there is also a library and a garden. Feel free to go and explore.” He called back as he disappear down the stairs, his voice echoing through the house.

Why did she always probe? Because you always want to know more, Pansy thought to herself. It was a vice and a virtue.

She pushed open the door Potter said was hers. A large window was at the end with a double bed to the side. Pansy stepped into the room. Built in white cupboards lined the wall. A desk had been place beneath the window. Perfect for the sewing machine. The double bed was walnut with a headboard which seamless rolled into a sleigh bed.

Pansy waved her wand, and her luggage levitated up the stairs and into the room behind her.

This would have to do.

—

Pansy hadn’t see Potter for days. She had slowly began to investigate the house once she knew he was gone in the morning. She would wait till she hear the the roar of the floor and the clear announcement of “The Auror’s Office” before she would creep downstairs.

She had decided she would start at the bottom and work her way up exploring the many many rooms and having a good look at some of the Black heirlooms. Potter, obviously, hadn’t realised what they were or worth. She didn’t go into Potter’s room, not yet. She was saving it till she had summoned the courage to have a look. She figured he might of warded it against her snooping. Pansy wasn’t going to mess with Potter’s wards. He must be good at them to have hidden from the Dark Lord for months. Or it could just be Granger. Pansy was going to take her chances. Maybe on Thursday.

Soon she had discovered that many rooms were left untouched and dusty. One room - which looked like a dressing room from the various dark, black gowns hanging up - made her shudder with the number of cobwebs and dust. She wasn’t quite sure where the lace ended and the cobwebs began.

Clearly, Potter didn’t care.

Pansy entered the dressing room. She began to touch the dresses. Beautiful Acromacula silk. Dark as ebony and gorgeous. Pansy trace her hand down the skirt. Just feeling how smoothed it was reminded her of why it was so desired and expensive. Just 1 meter, could easily sell for 200 galleons if not more.

It was a shame these robes were hanging up unused, although, Pansy could probably guess why. She took one off the rail and held it out in front of her. The gown looked remarkably similar to the dresses that Bellatrix Lestrange used to wear. The resemblance was frankly disturbing. Maybe she could alter them? It was such a shame to leave them to hang in disgrace. Potter did give her free rein on the house.

She almost missed the sound of the familiar pop of a house elf.

“DO NOT TOUCH MISTRESS’ STUFF!” Rasped a particularly ugly elf.

Pansy spun on her heels.

“And who are you?”

“Kreacher, filthy blood traitor!” It squarked, magic cackled round its head. It had dopy ears and its face was thick and leathery. It had wrinkles, so many wrinkles. It reminded Pansy of her great grandmother, who she had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting when she was 4 and who she had never, ever forgotten.

“How dare you!” She shrieked. Never has a house elf addressed her like that. “I am not a blood traitor!”

“Only blood traitors come here now and touch master and mistresses’ things. Leave mistresses stuff alone!” He snarled. He was a mean little elf. “I do not know why Master Potter would allow a filthy blood traitor to come up and mess with mistresses stuff.”

“Potter is your master?” Kreacher gave a stiff nod. “Then who is your mistress?”

“Mistress Black”

“Walburga?” Pansy was pretty sure she was the last one.

He nodded.

“I see.” Pansy paused for a moment. Ripping these dresses apart would certainly give something to do and something which she hoped mildly pissed off Potter into action, so she could get out of this house. “Was she a special mistress?” House elves were known to favour certain master and mistresses over others over their long life. This one looked particular close to the grave. Pansy almost missed the sharp nod Kreacher made.

“Do not touch mistresses stuff.” He repeated.

“Would your mistress be proud of how you’ve left it? Beautiful Acromacula silk covered in cobwebs and dust? Mistress Walburga must have loved these dresses.” Pansy continued watching the elf, “And of course, so many rooms of the Black ancestral home covered in dust…” She trailed off, “I think mistress would be shamed.”

The house elf humphed. This elf had clearly guarded this house for far too long, but something was most definitely wrong if the house elf hadn’t cleaned since the 80s. Did elves even suffer from PTSD?

“Would you clean the house?”

“Kreacher won’t” the house elf replied.

“Won’t? What would Potter say?”

“Master treats Kreacher well. Master lets Kreacher keep Mistress’ stuff the way it is meant to be.”

Pansy knew Potter was soft. He hung around Granger and her house elf campaign for so long, something must have sunk in.

“What if,” Pansy could not believe she was bargaining with a house elf, but she supposed she would have to embrace these new lows now that she was trapped in this forsaken house. “I asked one of the Parkinson elves to assist in the maintenance?”

Kreacher paused, in thought. “Kreacher would like that.” He concluded. Ah, so he couldn’t clean. Pansy had never heard of, or met an elf that couldn’t clean.

Pansy stuck out her hand for the elf to take, “Pansy Parkinson.”

He took it, startled, “Kreacher, head house elf of the house of Black.” He had a tiny hand, and Pansy could feel how scarred it was. Perhaps that was why. “I am surprised that master has brought an heir of the Sacred Twenty Eight here.”

Pansy snorted. “I’m not here by choice.” Kreacher looked vaguely startled, "No, your master did not kidnap me - he is letting me stay here as a safe house. Someone wants to kill me.”

Kreacher nodded as this was perfectly normal occurrence. “Would mistress be wanting food?”

Mistress? Pansy frowned. If Kreacher had not been providing food, who had? Every evening a meal will be left for her, charmed to stay warm on the kitchen table.

“Yes.” She replied, “please. That would be wonderful.” Pansy turned and looked at the room, “Kreacher? Before I summon my elves to clean, would you mind giving me a full tour of the house? I would so love to see and hear about the stories behind these walls.”

The house elf, made no obvious change in expression, but gestured to Pansy to follow. As he turned, she could see deep scars carved in the back of his head with black spots surrounding him. Thick layers of wrinkles creased his neck, with his skin hanging off the skeletal frame.

“The house was purchased in the mid 17th century after the family manor was raised to the ground by the accidental magic of Cepheus II when he was a child…”

—

After the tour Kreacher had warmed to her (fewer Blood traitor comments which irked her) and offered to serve her lunch. She had spied a room they had not gone into. Kept shut, on the door was a hastily written "keep out” sign on it and a small nameplate that she couldn’t read as Kreacher moved her swiftly onwards. She would have to go and investigate.

She had asked Kreacher if he minded if she used one of the drawing rooms as a sewing room. He had grumbled and mumbled before accepting. At least now she could unpack her work and have something to do while she was stuck here. Her room, as it transpired was rather small for three dress-forms and 12 rolls of fabric.

Kreacher wasn’t that bad, just under used and stubborn. He had made several pointed comments about “Master Potter” moving the elf heads. She didn’t think Potter realised how old the elves were, or how high a regard they were held to be kept and remembered like that. He clearly didn’t realise what being the Black heir was. Pansy was not going to explain it to him.

As she was finishing her filet of hake, she heard a small tap on one of the small kitchen windows. A familiar small dappled brown owl was tapping and hooting against the pane. In its claws, the owl held a rolled piece of parchment.

Pansy got up from the table. She spent several minutes jiggling the victorian window to push it open. Finally, the window swung open with ease. The owl flew in and perched on the window sill. As Pansy stepped back, her elbow hit against a small metal pail beneath the window. In it, much to her surprise, were owl treats. Potter.

“Thank you, Georgia.” The grey owl hooted. She took a treat out and gave it to the small hooting owl. The owl stayed patiently, waiting for her reply.

Pansy took the scroll and sat back down at the table. She broke the blue wax, sealed with a familiar crest, and began to read.

_Pans,_

_Where are you? I flooed your apartment yesterday and you weren’t there. I went to the atelier and they had heard nothing from you. Not that I was surprised but samples from your next collection are meant to be dropping soon and I want first dips. I am serious. The last dress you sent me was stunning and I got so many compliments - Mamma is quite convinced I’ll get another marriage proposal. Absolutely delirious of her._

_What are you doing Pans? I am worried. I, even, went to the manor. Yes, there! To be greeted by nothing but those hideous velvet purple curtains you insist are in vogue._

_I would also like to remind you that you missed our weekly lunch date at Silk and Truffles. You know we can only get a table there because we are regulars. And no note! I look like an absolute fool, but guess who walked in and saved before from looking a right old spinster? No, no, I won’t tell you, not till you I see you again, or get at least reply._

_What is going on? Has something happened?_

_Daphne_

Pansy sighed. She had forgotten about her date with Daphne. She would have to write back. Daphne was quite demanding when it came to replies. It wasn’t her only fault but the one that grated Pansy the most.

She began to rummage through the draws near the window. If Potter was logical enough to leave Owl treats beneath a window, he was sure to keep parchment and a quill nearby.

Before she came upon a scrap of parchment s blunt quill jabbed her. It left a line of blue ink. How odd. She picked it up - perhaps she could use this to reply. There didn’t seem to be any other obvious quills, and she hadn’t come across an inkwell. She continued to rummage through the draw before moving down to the next one. It was filled with parchment.

With scepticism of the strange quill, she quickly wrote a reply to Daphne.

_Daph,_

_Oh that does sound intriguing. I cannot wait to hear more. I cannot write much right now to explain. Something has come up, so I’ve had to go away for a bit. Perhaps you can make your lunch saviour your regular till I return? Will be back soon for a long catch up - champagne brunch? I’ll pay._

_Pansy_

Pansy folded up the parchment and handed it to Georgia. Georgia hooted in approval and flew off the perch, out of the kitchen and across the garden. Pansy watch her go.

As soon as the owl had left the bounds of the garden, the floor roared into life. Pansy jumped as Potter bursted into the kitchen, wand drawn.

“Who did you owl?!” Potter snarled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! It really appreciate it. I am sorry about the delay - I was unable to write last week due to lots of deadlines and this chapter taking longer than usual to write. Let me know what you think.


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